Snow

By Lee Wallace

When Snow White was a child, she knew she wanted one thing: love.  

 

But when the Evil Queen asked her Magic Mirror, Who will end my reign, and the Magic Mirror told her, Why it will be Snow White, she set into motion a series of events which would see the death of someone close to Snow and force the young witch, Snow, to go into hiding, hoping no one would find her.

 

Although Snow was many things, lucky wasn't one of them.   

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lee Wallace
• Release date: Jul 5, 2022
• ISBN: 9781393939023

Lee Wallace

I grew up in Ontario, Canada, to a wonderful set of wonderful people. I'm the self published author of a few books, including THE NAUGHTY LIST and THE LEPRECHAUNS VS. THE GIANTS.  Follow me: @Lee_J_Wallace

Book preview

1

It wasn’t always like this: a bright blue sky cast over a shining city, waters shimmering, apple pies cooling on window sills.  

No, it was dark—very dark.

A grey sky stretched across the city and surrounding forests.

You had to travel for weeks to get out from under it, and you were lucky if you didn’t get lost in the thick fog that clung to the forest that ringed the city.

And when you did, make your way through the forest of fog and twisted trees that looked to shake and scream in the wind, its uneatable fruit rattling like the toys of children, you were under the care, the protection, of another royal family.

You see, when the terrain was controlled by the Queen of the Emerald Crown, they were known as the good earth county, where farmers grew brightly coloured food that sweetened your day, your mind, and your body, some would even your soul, but was only if you had one.

They say the Queen lost her soul when she fell ill, some say to madness. You see, she made a fatal mistake: she joined the war of the Band of Brothers, a collection of countries with Kings as their heroes.

She sent soldiers, but they wanted more, so she sent child soldiers, too, but don’t worry; they were kept from the battles, and then, they turned eighteen.

When they turned the magnificent age of man, they were handed heavy black guns, with rounded black bullets, and shimmering black shields and told to march, sometimes to their deaths.

Every death weighed on the Queen’s mind.

Like I mentioned to you before and not that long ago, some say it drove her to madness, to think of the families she robbed of sons, brothers, and fathers.

She walked in circles, talking to herself, telling her how it was for the best, but she couldn’t stop.

No, she continued, and continued—and continued until, one day, her now fragile mind snapped like a stepped-on twig.

When she was handed the list of the fallen soldiers, she kept it to herself, but you see, she couldn’t keep anything to herself.

It started in her head, then she lowered her gaze and covered her mouth.

People thought she the wrong thing.

Then it broke out like a spectre—that laugh—that hideous laugh. The laugh that would haunt all who heard it.

With every name, it grew louder, and louder—and louder. In the beginning, she’d apologize, but as the weekly readings of the names of the fallen soldiers continued, she stopped apologizing and kept laughing, laughing—laughing.

The people thought she was nuttier than a jar of peanut butter.

It was the only sane thing she could do, they said, to contend with what she did.

Some thought it served her right, to lose her mind as people lost their sons, their brothers, their fathers, and their uncles.

Some, you see, some stopped caring altogether, and the good people of the land plotted against her. Their ravings, which were kept secret from the Queen of the Emerald Crown, caught on like the plague, and soon, soon, they’d strike her down and replace her with a kind queen, one who wouldn’t laugh at expense of war: the lives of the loyal men.

They pulled together and got it passed, the bill that claimed the once sound-minded lady.

The Queen of the Emerald Crown took her sanity to the asylum, and a new queen was needed, but she had no heirs.

Politicians convened, struck the Queen of her powers, and gave the crown to the Elizabeth Manners, a woman of nightly hair, star-coloured skin, and the lips of a full moon whose surface was stained by the red sun.

She became known as the Queen of the Blood Moon, and she deserved the distinction, for she would murder the land of its colour and the people of their joy of life, all but the children, who either didn’t know better or were not old enough to be struck by the curse of the dark lands, the new Queen striking them where it mattered.

On the day of the Fallen Feather, she was crowned Queen. She felt the weight of the white crown, decked out in sparkly jewels, one in the middle shone with the redness of splashed blood.

As a gift, a king from the Band of Brothers gave her a magic mirror, telling her it will answer one question a day, and it will answer with brutal honesty, but that doesn’t mean she must act on it.

She looked at the magic mirror. She pressed her pale finger against its onyx surface.

It glowed from within.

The face of a woman appeared, lit from all sides. Shadow only clung when she moved her floating mask of a face.

The Queen of the Full Moon asked, Are you the ghost of this magic mirror?

The magic mirror told her all about herself. 

The queen asked her another question, but the woman told her no, she will not answer two question on the same day. Her next would have to wait, until tomorrow.

To pass the time, the new queen went through her many questions. She wanted to know about her beauty, her competition, and whether her reign would wither, especially since the old queen, the Queen of the Emerald Crown, was still alive. So the new queen, the Queen of the Full Moon, asked the magic mirror the only question of worth.

The Queen of the Full Moon stood in front of the magic mirror, pressed her moon-tinted finger against the blackened surface, and waited for the woman to appear.

Yes, my queen, is there something you’d like to know?

Why yes, there is. My reign is important to me.

I bet.

Who will end it? Who will end my reign?

The magic mirror thought. She pondered, tilting her head and curving her lips. Her black hair curved in front of her pale face. She looked down, away from the Queen.

Yes, the Queen said. And? Do you have anything?

I do, said the magic mirror, who looked at the waiting woman expecting her to say the name of some creature she would then have to kill. There is no one, no one at all, no one alive, who will end your reign.

Then a good day to you, magic mirror.

Until tomorrow.

I will see you then.

And with that, the Queen threw a red blanket over the magic mirror and sauntered out of the room, the door closing. The Queen ordered the guard to let no one—and she meant no one, other than herself—into that room. No one but me must disturb the magic mirror, am I understood?

Yes, my Queen, the guard would say.

The Queen turned, her cape flowing, and she walked, her high heels tapping against the stone floor. As the Queen’s reign continued, the blue sky turned steel grey; the light dimmed; and the food tasted different, as if it had no flavour. Bright colours were not allowed in the Queendom, for they didn’t survive the day, turning dull, damp, and dark within twenty four hours. Even jewels lost their muster, cracking under the spell cast by the Queen, who now was known as evil for she cared about one thing and one thing only: power. She lusted it like a good wife would a husband and vice versa, asking the magic mirror the same question, day after day, Who will end my reign?

And the magic mirror would think, then arrive at the same answer, There is no one alive who would end your reign, my majesty.

No one, eh? No one at all?

And because it was the same question, the woman replied, That is correct. No one, no one at all, no one alive, has the will power to see it through, my majesty.

But the world has a way of changing, doesn’t it, doesn’t it?

2

She was born under a white sun.

It blistered the shrouded-sky.

But who was she?

A little girl with raven black hair, porcelain white skin, full ruby lips, and sky blue eyes.

She was named after her skin, which resembled the season.

Snow, they called her, and she belonged to the Whites, a family of cow farmers who hoped she’d bring home someone who could carry on the family tradition.

They told her to chase him and to never let him go.

Cling, as if your life depended on it, her mother would say. It worked for me, and look who it lead to.

You’re talking about me, aren’t you, Snow asked her mother.

Yes, yes, I am. My greatest achievement, worth every ounce of pain and misery.

Pain and misery?

The pregnancy. I had to carry you—here, her mother said, touching her belly with a flattened hand.

There. Snow pointed.

Yes, for this is where women carry children.

Will I?

If you’re lucky, her mother told her.

She slid her hand along Snow’s shiny hair, then kissed her forehead.

With her thin lips almost touching her daughter’s flesh, she repeated, If you’re lucky.

ALONE, AND IN THE FOREST shrouded in fog, Snow struck a match.

A blue flame shook, gripping the blackened tip.

But it didn’t move down.

She got the stick from her mother’s cabinetry.

It was a wishing stick.

It was said, by her mother, that if she struck the match, made a wish, and swallowed the flame, and no sickness came to her, her wish would come true.

She looked at the wriggling blue flame, closed her eyes, and moved her lips around the silent words.

They spoke her wish.

She wanted to know true love, so she’d know motherhood. 

When she was done, she opened her eyes and brought the blue flame to her open mouth.

Her mouth closed around the stick.

Which she pulled out, the blue flame shaking on the back of her tongue.

She swallowed—loudly—with her eyes closed.

Snow, her mother called. Snow.

Coming.

Snow stood, dusted her dirty dress, and ran to her mother shouting, Snow.

Coming, Snow said. I’m here. Over here.

LATER THAT NIGHT, SNOW moved in her sleep.

She was dreaming.

She dreamt of a clear sky.

The twinkling stars weren’t known to her, and the Full Moon, too.

She passed a corner and saw a man turning his attention from the night sky to her.

But she couldn’t see his face or hear his words.

Shadow shrouded his face.

He spoke in a muted voice and motioned her to him.

She stepped closer.

He presented to her a stone, a red stone which shone in the moonlight.

She reached for it and—

She opened her eyes.

A quick moment later, she smiled, and said, It’ll happen. True love.

MONTHS LATER, SNOW walked to a friend’s house, where she was told, You can’t see her, by her friend’s rotund mother.

But I walked—

It doesn’t matter, the mother told her. She’s sick. Do you want to catch it, her sickness? And bring it home to your mother? Snow?

Snow surrendered. I guess not.

You must go. I’m sorry you came all this way, but now, you must go the way you came. I’m sorry. Really I am. Go along now.

Snow stepped away.

The mother shut the door.

Snow moaned, turned,